Red Thead
by drapetomaniac
Summary: According to the "red string of fate" myth, two people who are connected by the red thread are said to be destined lovers. The magical cord may stretch or tangle but never break. It's not literal, but Grif and Simmons seem to find their selves in that very situation. They'll figure it out someday.


Pairing: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons

Length: One-shot

Notes: Look what I just vomited out at 3 in the morning! Everyone's doing some sort of Soulmate work so why not? I twisted a good idea into something dumb though so don't expect anything that'll touch you emotionally. Or physically.

Summary: According to the "red string of fate" myth, two people who are connected by the red thread are said to be destined lovers. The magical cord may stretch or tangle but never break. It's not literal, but Grif and Simmons seem to find their selves in that very situation. They'll figure it out someday.

* * *

Simmons grumpily stared down the cluster of a mess that sat on the dining table. That included the rather big pile of shit otherwise known as Grif that slept sitting in his chair with his face mushed up against the table.

"Grif, get up," Simmons grumbled. His morning had just started and there were already obstacles to his damn breakfast. It was early dawn and it was _cold_. Simmons tried prodding his face with his finger. The soldier didn't move an inch and dribble began to escape from his mouth. Simmons' eye twitched in annoyance.

He looked back at the coloured crap on the table and began to inspect it. Different coloured wool, thread and needles as well as an idea magazine. The wool wasn't even wrapped into a ball, it was tangled within itself and the knots seem impossible to untie. Simmons raised an eyebrow at the bastard in slumber.

As if on cue, Grif snorted himself awake mid-snore and gazed drearily at the empty air. After realising where he was, he gazed up at Simmons who was still giving him a weird look. He noticed that Grif had some sort of food smeared across his cheek. The idiot fell asleep while eating. Typical. He picked up one of the knitting needles and poked the chubby cheeks of his teammate. He then pointed to the mess on the desk. "Are you going to explain what the hell this is?"

Grif drifted his gaze from Simmons to the obnoxious colours that presented themselves in front of him. "Oh, that? Donut was knitting or some shit while baking some brownies. Speaking of which, where did those brownies go?" Grif's eyes lit up as he soon realised his new objective: locate the food.

"Right," Simmons couldn't really care less. He shoved the mess to the other half of the table to prepare space for his breakfast.

Before Grif could get up and walk away from his chair, he felt something tighten around his little finger. "Ow, what the hell?" His eyes met with some red thread that wrapped and knotted itself around the finger. It trailed back into the big lump of wool. He began tugging on it in hopes for it to somehow loosen, but was met with failure. Simmons rolled his eyes at the idiot's actions. Grif continued to flail his hand around, and Simmons noticed that the soldier was now wide awake and alert. He chose to ignore him and tried to shove Donut's knitting supplies further away from the two.

"Wait, I can't get it off!" Grif complained. "Can you get the scissors? There should be a pair somewhere within Donut's crap."

"Why do you need the scissors? Just pull it off," Simmons grumbled, as he walked towards the kitchen bench. He plopped two slices of bread in the toaster and pulled out some jam from the cupboard. Grif continued to whine and wailed something about cutting his blood circulation. Simmons decided to find the damn scissors in attempt to shut the soldier up. "Goddamnit Grif, alright. Just shut up, you're giving me a headache."

"Yeah, yeah. Just dig around his stuff. You can't knit without scissors, right?" Simmons rubbed his fingers against his temples as he returned back to the clutter. He dug his fingers in the tangled wool and picked up the heap, hoping to find the scissors underneath. No luck. He looked around in case there was a small kit he had missed and patted his hand over the closed idea magazines. Well, he attempted to pat over the closed magazines, but his right hand was being pulled back from something. It didn't hurt, but it had taken him by surprised that he squeaked out an involuntary noise. Grif snickered, followed by a frown as he remembered his own finger.

Simmons looked down at his opened hand and spotted the red thread wound around his small finger. _God_, this was so stupid! He tugged on the line, just as Grif had earlier. He felt the knot tighten around his finger and his jaw locked up in annoyance. He tried to dig his free hand's index finger underneath the string so he can somehow grasp onto the thread itself, but his fingernails are too short and he can't get his nail between his skin and the yarn.

"Now we definitely need the scissors." Grif comments, his eyes were scanning the table and underneath. Simmons nods, whipping his head around for a sign of the much wanted tool. He pulls hard at the string again, hoping to at least pull out the other end of the string but instead of his desired reaction, he noticed Grif's. "Oof! Ouch, watch it—."

"Oh, _hell_ no." Simmons hurriedly started picking away at the different coloured wool from the red and lifts his hand up. Along with a jumbled ball of cotton, the string connecting to Grif's finger starts to follow the direction of his hand. Grif followed along, pulling away the other colours away from his own. Finally, when all the extra crap was separated from their own mess, both soldiers gape at the situation in front of them.

One thin line of red thread and a ball-like twisted problem connected their fingers. Silence fell upon the two as they stared blankly and tried to process what was happening.

"_Fuck _thisdude. I will chew my way out of this." Grif immediately latched his teeth onto the piece of string nearest to his finger and began gnawing at it. A thud was heard nearby but both men were too occupied to notice. If Simmons thought he was irritated before, _boy_, he was motherfucking infuriated now because his annoyance limit just tipped over and the rage was overflowing at this point. He just wanted fucking breakfast. He wanted to get out and begin his fucking training. Why the fuck was he tied with Grif? He started grinding his teeth together in frustration. "Is this fishing line or what?" Grif spat out the strand and growled. He kept jerking at the line which irritated Simmons's finger.

"Hey, quit yanking!" Simmons snapped, pulling the cord back his direction. They tugged at it a few more times before realising how tight the knots were beginning to feel. They were convinced that soon enough, their fingers would go purple and pop off at any moment. "Oh my _God_, I acknowledged the fact that I'd lose body parts during war but not like this."

Simmon's annoyance began to grow into anger and he started directing it at Grif, spitting out complaints and nagging on that "it's all you fault I'm stuck in this." Grif without doubt began protesting back, defending himself with "maybe if you weren't so dumb you wouldn't have jammed your hands right into the problem!"

Both their numb fingers must have been filling their heads because they both hadn't realised they were in the kitchen where _all_ the kitchen knives were located. Of course, being the idiots that they are, they had completely forgotten and only realised now. They paused their quarrelling and both moved to the kitchen drawers in sync, immediately grabbing the utensil.

"Do it, Grif!" They laid the line out on the kitchen bench and Grif began cutting the string with a sawing action.

Simmons couldn't believe it. Grif was speechless. He began slicing faster and increased the pressure in his swipes. The thread wasn't breaking! Simmons lost his patience as well as his shit and snatched the knife out of his grasp and began desperately hacking at the string.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Grif groaned. Simmons put the knife down in defeat. They stared at each other and then at their problem. "This fucking sucks." Simmons hummed in agreement.

They heard a _clap_ and both turned their heads towards the doorway that lead to the corridor. There stood Donut, who had his hands clasped together and giggling at the sight. "I knew it!" he exclaimed.

"Donut! What do you mean?" Simmons raised an eyebrow, "did you do this?!"

"What? No way. Don't you know what this means?" He glanced at both of the soldiers as they shook their heads with dumb expressions plastered on their faces. _These guys are idiots. They'll never get it. Maybe they need a shove. _"Guys! It's the red string of fate!"_ Or a kick._

"The string of what?" Grif slurred out. "Dude, this isn't a sappy drama show. You gotta stop watching those."

Donut sighed. Absolutely hopeless. Perhaps today wasn't the day for their ball of a mess to be untangled. "You guys…" Grif suddenly reminded him of the reoccurring plots in his romance movies and decided that they'd face it one day. _Destiny will lead them in the right way! It just isn't time yet._ "You'll understand one day." He treaded off, humming a bright tune and escaping their sights. Before leaving the puzzled pair behind, he muttered "man, I can't believe I was right!"

The two just continued to stare at the empty doorway, not knowing what to say. Simmons cleared his throat and turned to Grif. Just as he was about to ask what they should do next about their current situation, Grif's face was dumbfounded as he gawked at the now empty kitchen bench.

_Wait, what?_ Simmons was flabbergasted to find the kitchen bench _empty._ The string was nowhere in sight. Grif stretched his hand out and wiggled his fingers in front of him. Simmons mirrored him and felt around his last finger. The stinging sensation was gone and no marks or dents were left behind. As if it never happened; as if there was no string.

Grif sighed as he shook his head in disbelief. He just couldn't comprehend what the _fuck_ just happened. It _definitely_ happened; that he knew. He just didn't understand why or how. He didn't plan on trying to figure it out either. "Let's just forget this ever fucking happened, okay?" he stood up from his chair and headed for the door, staggering slightly. He didn't want to overthink this. He didn't want to think about it _at all_. "And promise to _never_ bring it up."

"Yeah, okay." _The red string of fate, _Simmons noted. He'd be sure to look it up in his spare time. It was stupid, he knew, but the curiosity in him couldn't help but pick it up. Simmons walked back over to the toaster to find his toast now cold. His stomach grumbled.

Before Grif left the room, he turned back to Simmons and stuck his small finger out. "Pinky swear?"

"Get the fuck out, Grif."


End file.
